


Rhys the Tailor

by literarynonsensefics



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: a big hc of mine I'm happy to find other people shared, this was fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarynonsensefics/pseuds/literarynonsensefics
Summary: After ACOWAR, I headcanoned that Rhys was the one making all (most) of Feyre's dresses, and it seems other people felt the same.  Originally, I reblogged a post from @araujol1 (on tumblr) and wrote it there.





	Rhys the Tailor

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on tumblr @literarynonsense!

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, her freaking _mate_ , was late to dinner. 

It was happening more often now, her sitting next to Nesta or Elain or whoever was there and turning to her side, expecting to see him.  Feyre didn’t mind the first few times, but today…

Tarquin was finally coming to visit, and Rhys wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Amren, have you seen Rhys?”  Feyre caught her friend by the forearm as they brushed past each other in the House of Wind.

“No.  I would ask Mor, though.  Maybe she’ll know.”  Feyre nodded, and went on her way.

Turns out, she didn’t.  Neither did Cassian or Azriel or Elain or Nesta.  She was going to rush back inside when a cloud of light and something smelling suspiciously of the sea flashed in front of her.  Tarquin was here.

“Lady Feyre!”  Tarquin greeted her warmly, and at his side, Varian tried not to look so bored.  The other male was shuffling on his feet, restless.

“Lord Tarquin, I’m so happy you could make it.  Varian…”  Feyre winked at him.  “Amren’s inside.”

“Oh, um, yes.  Well…”  Varian stuttered and Tarquin coughed out a laugh.  He glared at his High Lord.  “Thank you.”  Feyre nodded.

“Here, we’ll all go inside.  Rhys should be coming soon, but I can’t seem to be able to find him.”  

Tarquin put his hands in his pockets.  “No worries.  I’m grateful for the invitation, as always.”

As they walked inside the House of Wind, they found Amren and Varian standing half an arm’s length apart, speaking quietly.  Behind her was a small counter, with a ruby placed atop it.  “You still have that?”  Tarquin asked, his voice small.

“Amren refuses to get rid of it.  She finds your discomfort at seeing it amusing.”  Feyre breathed out a sigh and glanced at a clock.  “I’m sorry, I need to go find Rhys.  I haven’t seen him in an hour, and I’ve been looking all over.”   _Rhys_ , she shouted down the bond.   _Where the hell are you?_

_I’ll be right there, Feyre darling.  I’m just finishing up._

_Finishing up what?_

“Of course.”  Feyre barely acknowledged the High Lord as she followed her mate’s trace through the house.  Next to the stairs was a small door, leading to a small group of rooms they barely used, and Feyre could almost feel him going through it. _I’m coming to find you._

_Feyre…_

Her footsteps seemed to echo down the stairs, and below her, she heard the faint rustling of wings.  “Rhys?”  She turned a corner.

“Feyre, um…”

“By the cauldron…Is that tulle?”  She pounced on him, plucking a piece of fabric from his hand.  “And ribbon?  And what’s my dress doing down here?”

“Feyre darling…”

“I like that dress, I was going to wear it tonight.”  Feyre pouted, and yanked on the sleeve of Rhys’s arm.  “Come on, Tarquin and Varian are here and we’re being awful hosts.”

“Are we not going to talk about-?”

“The designing?”  Feyre smiled.  “Rhys, I’ve known you were making my dresses for me for decades.  I just never bothered to find your little workshop.”

“Shit.  What gave me away?”  The couple walked back upstairs together.

“Every time I gushed about my dresses, you made this face.  It’s like satisfaction and pride had a child, and plastered it onto your skin.”

“That is a remarkably precise analogy.”  Rhys traced his arm around Feyre’s waist.  “I don’t make all of your dresses, though.”

“I know.”  Feyre smirked.  “Amren makes the rest.”  Rhys, having summoned a glass of wine from somewhere, promptly dropped it.  The glass shattered on the floor. His eyes went wide, and were stuck to her face.

“ _No_.”

“Uh hm.”

“ _Feyre_.”  

“Sometimes, if she gets a piece of jewlery she doesn’t like, she’ll take it apart and weave the jewels into my skirts.”

“Really?”

“No.”  Feyre laughed and Rhys glared at her.  “But you believed me.”

Rhys scoffed, incredulous.  “No I did _not_.”  

“Yes you did.”  Feyre waved her hand and the glass disappeared.  “Let’s go join the party.”    


End file.
